


FIC: Between Worlds

by deslea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Fic, Humour, truly bad and wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deslea/pseuds/deslea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Moaning Myrtle ever wanted was a little girlfriend. Fifty years on, she finally got one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIC: Between Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene for Chamber of Secrets movie-canon. You know, if Chris Columbus had been on crack that day.

 

There was a ghost sitting on the toilet cistern in the second floor girls' lavatory at Hogwart's.

This would not normally be cause for comment. However, on this occasion, the ghost was not Moaning Myrtle. For this, Myrtle was extremely Put Out. Fortunately, Myrtle was well equipped for the occasion. She had a Put Out expression that she kept in reserve for just such an affront. In fact, she wore it almost all of the time. Just in case.

"Hello," she said dourly. "Who are you?"

The red-haired ghost bit her lip. "I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley. Didn't you see me go into the Chamber before?"

Myrtle shook her head. "I was just sitting on my U-bend, thinking about death," she said with relish. "Why are you all - you know, in colour?"

"I don't think I'm quite dead yet," said Ginny. "There was a boy. He tried to kill me."

Myrtle gasped. "Those dreadful boys. One killed me, too, I think. Really, you'd think they'd leave a girl alone in the *bathroom*. But they just _won't_ stay away." 

"Is this what death is like?" Ginny said, looking around her. "It doesn't seem so bad."

"Oh, no," said Myrtle. "It's rather good, I think. No more classes, and no more nasty teasing girls, and you never age. Well, there's that Granger girl - awfully strange - but she doesn't tease. Just sits there doing her nasty spells."

Ginny frowned. "But don't you think about everything you missed out on?"

"Like what?" Myrtle enquired.

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. Marriage. Having babies. That sort of thing, I suppose. Grown-up stuff."

Myrtle dismissed this. "Well, I'm sure I don't know, but when I was alive, they used to say that marriage was a terrible bore. Did you know, your husband gets to do things with you. Naked, even. My mother never told me exactly what, but it all sounds rather nasty to me."

Ginny bit her lip again. Her colour was changing. She looked quite red. Myrtle thought that was very interesting. She'd never seen a coloured ghost before.

"Myrtle," Ginny said at last, "it's not really that bad, you know."

Myrtle gasped. "You've _done_ it?"

"Well, no - not exactly. But you see, you can - do things. Things that are like what a boy can do to you. My Mum got drunk one night, and she said that doing it yourself is even better."

Myrtle was intrigued. "Whatever do you mean?"

Ginny looked around, frowning. Finally, she took Myrtle's hand and tugged her into a cubicle. Myrtle noted with satisfaction that it was the same one where she had died. Ginny closed the door behind them and bolted it. She came around Myrtle and guided her back against the door. Myrtle had to concentrate in order not to fall back through it.

"Do you trust me, Myrtle?"

Myrtle frowned, but she nodded. And then, to her utter surprise, Ginny was pulling up her skirt!

"Ginny, whatever are you *doing*?"

"Just trust me. It feels nice. There's a spot. It's got a funny name. I saw it in a textbook once." Myrtle's frown deepened as Ginny fiddled with her underpants. She wondered if Ginny was playing a nasty trick on her, like that horrible Olive Hornby who used to tease her about her glasses. But oh, how Olive had regretted-

"OH!"

Why, where HAD that feeling come from? Myrtle stared at Ginny. Ginny had a mischievous look on her face.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"It's like - like -"

Myrtle was at a loss for a simile.

"Does it always feel like that?" she asked at last.

"I think so," Ginny said. She frowned. Rather like she was explaining a difficult spell. "You can make it...change...by touching it different ways."

Myrtle had never heard of such magic. "Change how?"

"It builds, sort of. Like it gets tighter. And higher. And then it lets go. It's amazing."

"Can you show me?" she said eagerly.

Ginny pushed Myrtle against the door and put her hand in Myrtle's pants again. Myrtle grabbed onto Ginny for support, and she held on tighter still when Ginny's hand began to move. She felt even more ethereal than normal. As though she was melting from the center outwards. She gave a high-pitched wail of delight.

"Oh, Ginny!" she moaned. "That's so good!"

She closed her eyes, and she sighed when the tightness let go.

Myrtle was smiling as the vibrations subsided. "Ginny," she said, opening her eyes, "I had no idea-"

But Ginny was gone.

* * *

Myrtle was sitting on the cistern, playing with threads on her robes and smiling when she heard voices coming from under the basin. "I suppose they'll expect me to call it the Chamber of Secrets now," she muttered. "Well, I don't think so. This is _my_ bathroom." She rose up to tell them so. And then she stared.

It was Ron and Harry and that silly man Lockhart - and Ginny.

"You're alive," she said at last.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," sniffed Harry. Of course, he _would_ assume Myrtle meant him. 

Honestly. Boys.

Ginny was looking at her. Stricken.

"Oh, well," she said over his shoulder, "I'd just been thinking. If you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet." She blushed silver.

Tears streamed down Ginny's cheeks when Ron and Harry led her away.

END

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the process of uploading my back catalogue of fic at the moment, so sometimes my current HP work will not be at the top of my author listing. You can see all my HP work together [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deslea/works?fandom_id=136512).


End file.
